


Blowback- A Lesbian Spy Novel

by AmandaJay



Category: Fiction - Fandom, Original Fiction - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Espionage, F/F, Female Spy - Freeform, Lesbian Royalty, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Spy, Royalty, Spies, Spy - Freeform, Unrequited, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, female - Freeform, lesbian angst, lesbian love, royal, women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaJay/pseuds/AmandaJay
Summary: The story of Samantha Voltaire, an under-cover American Agent, and Lauren Cavendish, a member of the British royal family.blow·back (Intelligence) - /ˈblōbak/: USDenoting the unintended consequences, unwanted side-effects, or suffered repercussions of a covert operation that fall back on those responsible for the aforementioned operations.
Kudos: 4





	Blowback- A Lesbian Spy Novel

Blowback  
By Amanda Jay

Chapter 1

The entrance to Hilton Park Lane was gorgeous. Like the outside of the strikingly modern hotel, the inside lobby was just as sleek, yet classic. This was due to the decors’ cold metals and cool grey tones set against warm, heavy wood paneled walls. Glass sculpturesque lighting stood against native Field Maple wainscoting that flanked wrought iron entrances as geometric patterned, neutral colored rugs ran strategically across the ornately marbled floor. 

Outside, London was abuzz with the excitement that came with the BVCA Annual Gala Dinner. The vibrant blue light of the tower washed over the arriving crowd. Politicians, celebrities, entrepreneurs and the like arrived for an evening of networking. 

To most, this would still seem like work. Not to Samantha Voltaire, an American CIA agent. As the town-car pulled up to the hotel in all its humming brightness, she anticipated this “night off”. Sam had just come off a very dangerous mission, operating in the shadows. Now stationed in London to merely observe, she couldn’t wait to stand in the light. To mingle, hear music, dance, and most of all to feel those precious first drops of alcohol hit her tongue. She hadn't had a drink in 8 months, which was saying a lot. Alcohol was her crutch. It was a tool to fight back past demons and darkness and help assist her in becoming what she was good at, someone else. Tonight, she stared up at the tower through the window of the car with a child-like giddiness. 

Sam turned with a grin and looked at her devastatingly handsome date, Ian Oldham. He was everything a stereotype could hope to be. Tall, dark and handsome. He adjusted his black bowtie, “Ready to go darling?” he said with a twinkle in his eye. She nodded vigorously. His english was impeccable, as was Sam’s. Only Ian conversed with a received pronunciation that was somewhat heightened. He grew up in Bristol before leaving at a young age to start a path towards joining the Secret Intelligence Service, and yet a lifetime of education and conditioning couldn’t mask the southern Welsh accent at times. The two had worked together over the years when this modern day James Bond had soon become her best friend. 

What had brought them together this time were the suggestions that Germany had begun to spy on The US and Great Britain for the first time since 1945. This information had come on the heels of a series of U.S. spy scandals that had made relations between the three countries tense to say the least.

Tonight was a simple observe and report mission. As the car door swung open, Samantha stepped out into the temperate night, taking Ian’s arm and they proceeded towards the reception. Her senses were heightened. As always, she was hyper aware of her surroundings, taking in every sight and sound around her. She had always been this way and years of service fine-tuned the already keen senses. 

Time was spent hand-shaking and making the acquaintance of Ian’s friends and colleagues. People he had come to know through his work at The US Embassy, where she would now be working too. Some agents, others not. She could tell who was who by the knowing glances and nods of approval. It was almost a game. Then there was the category of person who seemed to avoid Ian, Samantha, and their entourage all together. She made mental notes. 

As they walked through the lobby she slyly slipped a martini off the tray of one of the servers, but not without escaping a sideways glance from Ian. More than partners, they were friends that had seen each other through tough times. He seemed to always have one eye on her. Especially tonight since she was new in town and he, knowing she was fully capable, had still incessantly assigned himself her acting au pair. They were ushered to their table, where a large meal and friendly banter were exchanged. Each voice competing to be heard. Associates new and old, kissing their hellos. 

Conversations amongst the group varied from “How’s the family?”, to topics on climate change, security, Darfur, and if cricket will every really catch on in America. The lights dimmed and with them they brought the crowd down to a slow rumbling hush. It was time for the evenings entertainment. 

An elaborately choreographed fencing demonstration began to take place. It started with a number of fencers bounding and dancing, the music and lighting were dramatic as the group of fencers were narrowed down to the last two standing. They fought to the “death”. The fencer in black costuming fell to the floor as the one in white stood in exultation. Symbolizing the triumph of good over evil. “If only life were so black and white”, thought Samantha, as she stood with the crowd to applaud the performance piece. 

Samantha had her own personal appreciation for the sport, as she fenced competitively in college. Without realizing it at the time, fencing was an outlet for releasing stress and anger. Days of rigorous training paid off at the end of the week, her favorite day, when she got to spar, one on one. Cunning and quick, she was a fighter. So when she learned about the fencing team-building experience that was available to the attendees tonight at the gala, she was elated. Ian could feel her jumping out of her skin. “Yes” he said feigning annoyance as he slowly turned his head to her, arms crossed. A smirk spreading across his beautiful face. As if she had silently asked for permission. She wasn’t the only one. The rest of the table along with everyone in the room had burst into chatter and competitive verbal “jabs”. 

The lights dimmed completely as black lights and dance music befitting a disco took over. The alcohol flowed as evidenced by Englishmen, Aristocrats and Diplomats became both more talkative and more touchy; slaps on the back. “Camaraderie or attempts to keep one another standing?” she mused silently. Ian and Samantha navigated the minefield of “club-goers” up to the fencing area. It was time for team “London US Embassy” to take the stage. “God Bless America” sang the drunken men who had shared the proper dinner and appropriate table-talk earlier that evening. 

The group lined up side by side facing the performers. Samantha stood before the masked white fencer from the preceding act. “This should be fun!” She thought, getting more and more pumped. The man holding the microphone laid down some ground rules while everyone half listened and goofed off. Samantha was already in En Garde, feeling the grip of the foil in her hand. “Like riding a bike”. The White fighter paced in a menacing attempt to intimidate her. Sizing Samantha up and noticing that she was left handed, The White fighter, threw his own sword from his right hand into his left. Samantha had always seen her left-handedness as an advantage, but this opponent was skilled and they knew it. “Oh, cocky are we?” she grinned from ear to ear, ready to lunge. Even though she couldn’t see her adversary’s eyes due to their protective equipment, she was operating on a whole other group of senses. 

When the crowd of amateurs were instructed to take the first step, the White fighter sprung into action, kicking high and lunging in at her. Samantha instinctively parried the blow high and out. The two began sparring intensely. “What the hell is this guys problem?!” There was something about her adversary’s foot work, their movement, something ancient, traditional. She grasped the orthopedic grip and thrusted. The two were evenly matched, a fact which was starting to piss off Samantha. She started to perspire as they skirmished back and forth like an arcade game. The strategies getting more complex. 

The White Fighter was advancing, to a point that would have been illegal in an actual competition. Right when the White Fighter had Samantha practically backed against a wall, sword to sword, a brief moment passed, The White Fighter took one slow deliberate step towards her causing a crossover. The White Fighter had intentionally yellow carded themselves. He let her win this mock scrimmage. Samantha was incredulous. Stepping back, The White Fighter bowed to the applauding crowd that gathered, which Samantha hadn’t noticed. Sweating through her silvery-gray cocktail dress, breathing heavily, her eyes bore deep into her foe. The White Fighter then turned to Samantha and took a deep bow. Sheathing his sword and proceeded to remove the protective mask. 

Revealed was a woman's face. Long wet and matted dark blonde locks, and dark blue eyes that glinted as she smiled mischievously, equally trying to catch her own breath. Samantha stopped. The White Fighter was gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. The anger was still very much present in Samantha only now was mixed with something else. Still covered in sweat, at which was starting to feel cold, she shivered. Ian quickly hopped onto the stage, half in excitement, telling her what a great job she did, only to then yank her off and frantically ask “What the hell was that?”. She stuttered “What? Nothing. I don’t know. What are you talking about?” He had seen this look before and did not want history to repeat itself. 

“Sammy” he sighed. A flicker of pained concern flashed through his face as he held her by the shoulders. A long moment passed as he chose his words wisely “Focus...It’s Adlar Falke, I’ve lost sight of him. I know he didn’t move towards the exit, he has to be still in the building.” Samantha snapped-too; Yes, right. Adlar Falke, the German business capital venturist that she and Ian were to be observing tonight. She looked around. “I’m going to sweep the perimeter, have a look around” his tone now all business. 

“Right” she confirmed. Now back to reality, she scanned the dance floor. Reality also brought with it a realization that she had to pee and had been holding it for quit sometimes, too distracted to notice. “A quick restroom break wouldn’t hurt, I must really look like a mess” she thought. She grabbed her clutch off the table and walked towards the restrooms, aware of everything behind her as well as her peripheral, she scanned left to right and back again, only something stopped her in the middle, someone approaching, dead ahead. Time slowed. Down the secluded hallway from the men’s room, the figure approached, dressed to the nines. His walk, his eyes, everything seemed familiar. A chill ran up her spine. She couldn’t place it, the face was different, yet...she knew it. 

The man shamelessly eyed her like a piece of meat; looked her up and down and adjusting his pants by way of grabbing his belt as he walked by. She cringed. Her stomach sank. Once he was out of site, she backed herself against a wall around the corner. Closing her eyes, she tried to keep from hyperventilating. Images flashed behind her eyelids. Adler Falke was actually Aren Ormand. The man who had captured and tortured Samantha last year. Back then he was just a muscle, a sadist. How did he become this successful executive, the face and charismatic personality of Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunication. Speaking of face, he looked different. Plastic surgery. 

She needed to find Ian fast. She hurried into the party, Ian was near the exit, as Adler Falke breezed passed him. Ian looked at Samantha, she approached Ian but then passed him, walking out the door after Adler who quickly got into a waiting car, glancing back at Samantha and making a “kissy face” before shutting the door and driving away. He recognized her. “Sammy, let him go, he’s gone.” Ian grabbed her by the arm. “What’s going on? We aren’t to engage.” he pulled her back inside. 

“Ian listen, this is bigger than what we thought. It’s not just about the money...he’s” Before Samantha could finish a staff member neared. “Madame, the royal family would like to extend an invitation to their table.

Both Ian and Samantha looked at each other in confusion. “Can this night get any stranger?” she wondered. “Well if the royal family requests it...” Ian looked slowly from Samantha to the messenger. “Then I supposed we shall oblige?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Um, yeah. I mean yes.” She was on high alert now. She hadn’t been in town but a few weeks and The Royals were already calling for her. 

She suddenly became aware of just how unfamiliar her surroundings were. They walked stiffly through the grand ballroom towards a grouping of tables set in front of immense floor to ceiling windows. There were not as many people in this area, most were standing, with a few seated, all talking amongst themselves. As they approached, a woman stood with her back to them, she turned around. It was The White Fighter. Blonde hair pulled up into an elegant up-do. Dressed in a long, black, and backless gown. Diamond earrings and necklace radiated against porcelain skin. For the second time tonight, Samantha was rendered speechless. Both Samantha and Ian stood there just short of their jaws hitting the floor. She could practically hear Ian breathing. “I know” she whispered. “Wait. She’s royalty? And you knew this?” “Be cool.” he said quickly, avoiding her gaze and proceeding quickly toward the new company. He knew he was in trouble. The woman’s smile was big and bright as she made her way toward Ian and shook his hand. Samantha hurried to catch up. Samantha honestly did not know how to act or what to do in these few seconds as she walked. This woman was beautiful, dignified, and as childish as it was, Samantha was still a little bitter about the fencing match. 

Samantha narrowed her eyes at the woman as she reached out to shake her hand. “Hello, I’m Lauren Cavendish.” she said confidently, picking up on Samantha’s hesitation. “Samantha...Voltaire.” “Ah, American.” she said as if accepting a challenge. “Yes.” Samantha relaxed. “To a fault, I’m afraid.”  
“Can I get you a drink?”  
“Yes please, thank you.” 

Samantha felt entirely out of place. Ian on the other hand, was making himself at home. She walked over to the large windows and gazed out. London at night. The skyline made distinct by The Eye of London as it made its rounds. Samantha thought about the history. She longed to reach out and touch the architecture. She couldn’t believe she was standing here in this moment. Lauren appeared next to her, handed her a glass of champagne while also staring out the window. A sense of pride in her eyes. This moment was perfect. They stood in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. 

“Well, shall we?” she exhaled, seeming as if she had been holding her breath. Lauren motioned towards the table. They walked over and Lauren pulled out a chair for Samantha. Sitting next to her, they talked. Samantha had predetermined answers for all of Lauren’s questions. She was a government worker from Texas and that was all that she needed to know. 

Taking mental notes of her surroundings, the only thing that stood out as odd was the fact that Lauren, whoever she was, was paying all of her attention solely to Samantha. Constantly checking to see that her glass was full and that she was comfortable. Trying to get to know her, making small talk. She couldn’t help but feel that Lauren was...interested in her. Between Ian’s “big-brother” watch and Lauren’s mixed signals, Samantha was getting anxious. Lauren watched her, noticing the nervous energy and the fact that she kept the conversation light. She studied her face and wondered what was going on inside her head as her eyes darted around the room. Distracted. 

“Would you like to get out of her?” Samantha looked in surprise, “Excuse me?” “Come with me.” Standing, she reached out to pull Samantha up. Pausing and looking up into Lauren’s eyes, she took her hand. Trusting this charismatic person who was insisting they be friends. Lauren briskly grabbed an entire bottle of champagne and hurried Samantha out of the room. At a speed-walks pace they headed down the hallway, rounding corners. 

“Where are we going?”  
Lauren smiled that mischievous smile which brought out a laugh from Samantha finally. Feeling the excitement, she followed Lauren until they came to large heavy double-doors which opened up onto a grand balcony. Once again Samantha showed that child-like wonderment she had when she was looking up at the hotel, only now she was looking down. 

“Oh. Wow. This is...”

With satisfaction, Lauren poured the champagne and handed her the glass, never taking her eyes off of her. 

“This is lovely, really, thank you.”

There was no one in site, the city echoed down below. Kicking off their shoes, they talked some more, only Samantha found herself being more real this time. “Was it the alcohol? The company?” She couldn't be sure. 

“You know, I actually do a lot of work at the embassy, we could do lunch sometime?”  
Mental Note: “She’s trying to make future plans.”

“My friends and I are going out to one of my family’s country houses for a weekend. You should come.”  
Mental Note: “She wants to see me again”

As the night went on, the bottle drained. 

“Sammy! where have you been? Most everyone has left.” Ian stumbled onto the patio. The two women stood up. Lauren dusting herself off, “Oh, wow, he’s right. I should get going myself. It’s late.” 

“Right” Samantha smiled in feigned agreement. “Well, Miss Voltaire, it was a pleasure. You two have a pleasant evening.” She smiled with a polite bow, and disappeared from the balcony. 

She was gone. Just like that. 

Samantha sighed. “Ugh!” she buried her face in Ian’s tux. Ian snickered “Sammy. No. Just. No.” he laughed as he wrapped his arms around her. “I know!...She’s straight...” she groaned. They stood there for a moment. Ian breathed in the scent of her hair. It suddenly felt a lot cooler outside or maybe she was just too distracted earlier to notice. She pressed into him for warmth. Her mind was reeling even though she was exhausted. The more she tried to sort out the evening’s events, the more blurred it all became. 

“One thing is for sure, we have our paperwork cut out for us tomorrow...” she lifted her head to speak and suddenly her face was less than inches from Ian’s. His eyes, glazed with intoxication, pierced hers. A wave of panic rushed through her, yet she didn’t stir. He took her face in his hands ever so gently. He smelled of cologne, leathery cigar and the finest whisky aged in oak. She searched his eyes for some answer. He lowered his lips, and kissed her on the forehead. She sighed in relief and comfort. 

“Lets get out of here.” He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her, walking her through the magnificent doors and disappearing into the dark of the hotel.


End file.
